Anger Burger

In case you are not following Sunday on instagram, or the dreaded box of faces in boxes and also thumbs, you might have missed the most important thing to happen this year. That is to say: the first real dang-old-fashioned print edition of e galactic mu. Written by Sunday Williams (who you might remember as the funny and multi-talented headmistress of AngerBurger). With cover art by the famously talented Adam Koford (of the laugh-out-loud cats).

You can use it to kill spiders and other level 0 creatures, you can press flowers or hide photographs, you can moisten it and watch it curl, you can display it above the mantle with pride like something you killed, and you can (finally!) read it in bed without worrying about electromagnetic rays frying your defenseless brain.

So drop the dishes, drop the baby, let go of the steering wheel, flush the toilet, turn off the shower, unplug the oven, kick over the TV, drop your pants, drop everything, dance around, wave your hands in the air like you don’t care, do your dance and order it now.

YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

(Get it from Amazon or special-order it at your local bookstore.)

We now return to our regularly scheduled complete lack of programming.

Hi! Anger Burger got an STD and now there are Viagra-type links in every single post back until the beginning of time. At this time we are not sure if there is an easy fix or if we have to manually remove the link from every post, but while we figure it out: don’t click the link if it seems suspicious. We are sorry. I am sure god is punishing us for abandoning you these last 18 months.

Today is the day we celebrate our evil master Sunday, Queen Boss Captain of Angerburger and all things angry and burgery. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll have an Irish Whisky, some espresso, a slice of pizza slathered in Rooster sauce (or as we call it, “red mayo”), a slab of salmon, and a salad the size of your head.

If you don’t get a chance to worship her in person, I have provided this electronized self-portrait for your convenience. Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.

Some weeks ago Kristen contacted me and asked if I’d like to try some Gluten-Free Chocolate Chip Cookies and then remarked that it was perfect for someone with Crohn’s disease like myself.

And I couldn’t help it. I had to point out that Crohn’s people can actually eat gluten, or at least as much gluten as everyone else can (and this is without me even starting on after deleting a rant about the ridiculous quantity of people claiming gluten allergy or intolerance, when what they mean is that they often feel terrible after eating too much at a sitting). It’s a common mistake to run Crohn’s together with Celiac, and those together with IBD and IBS, and maybe a little hypochondria just for seasoning. And as arrogantly superior as I am, it brought cookies to me, so I am not going to complain. Kristen is a professional and skipped over my being a butt about gluten and this package arrived in the mail.

If I am reading this right, the name of the actual brand product is THE BEST CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES IN THE WORLD. Which you know, is like the kiss of death. Immediately my brain says that they can’t be the best, and only a fool would claim that a dry, manufactured chocolate chip cookie can be any better than a homemade cookie fresh from the oven, or even a few days later, softened by a relaxing stint in a ziplock bag.

Immediately I take pause. I go to the website. Aaah, I think. So this is what cookies would be like if they were made by Dr. Bronner. The packaging is covered in a curious mix of uplifting glurge and vaguely threatening patriotism (please take note of the bad registration on the blue print over the red flag stripes — THE BEST COUNTRY IN THE WORLD UNLESS YOU NEED BOXES PRINTED!).

And yet, I am charmed. Despite all the red flags and inexplicable engrish, it’s a kind of crazy that reminds me of living in Los Angeles. There’s an earnest quality that is not quite as honest as say, a Bay Area hippie, but a nevertheless frantic desire that you believe what they are trying to sell you. I miss it.

Every time I think it is over, it continues. The boxes themselves are stuffed with leaflets containing urgent messages about the state of our nation’s economy and the corporatization of other snack brands.

But I want to eat cookies, so let’s get to it. Kristen sent EXTREME CHOCOLATE and original cookies. I am now actively trying to avoid reading the packaging because it is distracting.

Holy shit! Not only is every single exterior surface of the package used as a soapbox, but the interior is covered in poems! I fucking love these guys.

EVEN THE COOKIE BAG ITSELF. I appreciate that they recommend a brief gassing off of the cookies before eating, and as a test I ate one straight from the bag and then again 10 minutes later. I couldn’t detect an increased complexity of flavor.

As I figured from the packaging claiming 45-50 cookies per box, these cookies are tiny! It’s everything I can do to not dump the bag into a bowl, pour milk over and eat with a spoon.

The double chocolate guys are also very misshapen, which of course I like.

I find it interesting that several times it is mentioned that the cookies contain less sugar than the consumer might be used to, because they do not taste particularly non-sugary to me. They seem to be just the right amount of sweet. But when was the last time I ate a Chips Ahoy? I can’t remember. Bart’s Bakery cookies are definitely rich in flavor, and in the original I can taste a forward hit of salty, almost cheesy butter that I find missing in almost every grocery store cookie ever made. The chocolate chips are excellent too, very melty and dark, so high in cocoa fat that they are nearly soft to the touch and instantly leave skin-warmed chocolate on your fingers. The double chocolate cookies are not quite the same, which is interesting – they are very cocoa-ey and despite appearing to be the exact same recipe as the original cookie (at least according to the ingredient list and nutritional breakdown), are lacking that pleasant shortbread burst of butter. It is likely the cocoa masking the flavor, and that is unfortunate but the nature of the beast when it comes to chocolate.

These are good. If I want to buy a box of tiny dry cookies, I can’t think of a better option. But are they better than homemade? Not for me. Is it fair to compare them? I am starting to think it isn’t. I don’t buy chocolate chip cookies ever, as a matter of fact, because it takes 20 minutes to make them. My ideal cookie has a soft, chewy center and lightly crispy edges, has a sprinkling of sea salt across the top and a little too much vanilla in it, and frankly, only I can make them. It is not fair to compare these to those. Bart’s Bakery has done a good thing here, and I’d buy them without hesitation in the event that I want the world’s most luxurious breakfast cereal.

We are still alive, don’t you worry none. Here are some things that are happening:

• Sunday recently relented and made me a fresh batch of Cornish Pasties, or, as I’ve nicknamed them, “Carnies.” This is that illogically killer recipe from Jamie Oliver’s Great Britain. Still awesome. I try to limit myself to one a day. Also, the book has dropped in price, so now might be a good time to pick it up.

• tajin classico seasoning was introduced to us by our good friend Skrappy and it’s Sunday’s new go-to topping. Everything is tajin, all up ins. It’s a dry season, like salt or pepper, but it’s composed of chili peppers, salt and DEHYDRATED LIME. Damnation! It’s the mack on Mangos, watermelon, avacados, and pretty much everything else, but my favorite is on sliced cucumbers. I kind of wish we had a jar that was just dehydrated lime, since I like to throw a little lime in the cokola when I eat something greasy.

Tajin has recently become available at common supermarkets; I’m not sure where they hide it, but that’ll be fun for you. Like a treasure hunt. I think it’s like a dollar a bottle. Dehydrated summer, I tell ya. Gabrilliant. Here, have some on jicama:

• I’ve been finishing up some rare BAD NEIGHBORS cards for people that were nice enough to review e galactic mu. If you haven’t downloaded the book, which Sunday wrote with the skin of her own hands and sometimes teeth, you are forfeiting your right to complain about basically everything. Come on, it features flying sharks, unicorns and a dog that eats cigarette butts!

Here is a card I made for my friend Justin (he is not always this stoned, HOWEVER, he is a terrible neighbor, specializing in the categories of super-loud movies and music, 2 am cleaning rampages and using illegal fireworks inside his apartment):

• On the subject of Bad Neighbors, you can now purchase the game at 3 local places: Gabi’s (Olympic Cards & Comics), The Danger Room, and Spidermonkey. So if you’re lazy, afraid of e-commerce, and live in the South Sound area, we got you covered.

• Continuing on the subject of real-life bad neighbors, I’m currently suffering through building construction (across the street), massive landscaping (next door), and a speed-fueled schizophrenic break (rear neighbor). I really need to live in the deep woods, on an island, in an underground soundproof bunker.

• Sunday has been knitting up an f4 of mostly baby sweaters (our friends are having twins). I am campaigning for a Tank-sweater, so far no luck. Tank is what the professionals refer to as “a difficult shape.” She’s pretty barrelly and has a neck like a grown-ass man. Her neck measurement is the same as mine, although I am 6 times her size. We are equally hairy, although my moustache is fuller. She needs a sweater, I think.

• Just read a heart-wrenching post on a friend-0f-a-friend’s new blog, After Words. I can’t really recommend it, because it gave me feels. As a bonified bear-skin wearing, blood drenched axe-crazy berserker, I am uncomfortable with most emotions. Read at your own risk.

• This salad from Little Big Blog looks good. Maybe it’s because of the feels, I don’t know. I will fortify myself with a carnie and see if the feels pass.

• Do you like cello? I do. August Ruins is my latest obsession, great for writing, moping, or other artsy pursuits.

• I’m working on a comic book. Actually, two comic books. One is about a sexy sci-fi monster hunter, and the other is about a horse that eats people. So there.

I know nothing at all about Jamaican cuisine. I think they have some kind of meat pie. There is a dish of savory fruit that has a funny name. There was a Jamaican restaurant four blocks from my house in Los Angeles that was one of the shiftiest places I have seen in my life. In the year that we lived there, I think I saw it open maybe half a dozen times, and when it was open, the diners looked like food was the last thing on their minds.

When Nancy at Buncha Jerks asked if they could send me a sample of their seasoning, I wanted to tell her: look, I’ve eaten jerk once in my life. I really like Appleton Rum. That is what kind of culinary commitment you are getting from me. But my kind of moron is perhaps the best kind: I am willing to try things, and I don’t have anything else to compare it to.

Immediately I decided not to follow instructions. I had almost exactly a pound of chicken thighs, which at Buncha Jerks’ advice would require 1.5 teaspoons of their seasoning. Their sample packet had about 3 teaspoons (1 Tablespoon). I licked the end of my pinkie finger and dipped it into the spice; half of the dose just didn’t seem like enough. What I tasted was a little warm, but not spicy. I dumped the whole packet in and left it all for 24 hours to think about what it had done.

The next day I asked Mike the Viking what Jamaicans eat with jerk and he answered something about Vikings tasting only the blood of their enemies, so I made some kind of scallion and cilantro rice thing that I made up. There was also coconut milk involved. Do Jamaicans eat coconut? Who doesn’t?

I broiled the chicken in my oven because I don’t have a steel drum spit down by the beach.

Verdict? It is a very tasty seasoning blend. Is it authentic? I have no idea, and it sort of doesn’t matter to me. More on that in a moment. For me, the seasoning was very allspice and cinnamon-forward, mostly flavors I associate with pastry and sweets, but with a lightly savory and only very mildly warm finish from the thyme and Scotch Bonnet pepper. I detected no sugar or salt, but my tastebuds are the sugar and salt equivalent of someone who does like $500 of heroin a day. I need a lot to maintain.

What disappointed me was the heat level. The only other time I had jerk was many years ago, and it basically ripped my face off. I did not enjoy it. However, I have turned into a chili head in the last year or two, much to everyone’s¹ surprise. But the chicken I prepared was barely warmer than if we had used a lot of black pepper, and certainly many times more mild than any of the quotidian hot sauces we have in the house. So was this a normal amount of heat? I truly don’t think so, and at their website I notice there are three levels of heat. Perhaps they sent me the mild one? I’ll let Nancy get back to me on that one.

I appreciate what Eric and Nancy are doing with Buncha Jerks. It takes a tremendous amount of energy and personal risk to try and address faults in the culinary industry, and I applaud that. I can only tell them I am sorry I am such a tremendous jerk noob (a jerk jerk, if you will) (I know you won’t) and that when they initially contacted me a month ago, they were trying to raise money through Kickstarter to really get things going, but failed to meet their goal. This is really too bad. They seem like nice people with an earnest product. That I wish was spicier.

As far as authenticity goes, can I volunteer that I am sort of over it? I’ve been cooking a lot of Japanese food at home lately, and really embracing the concept of yōshoku. There are dishes widely acknowledged yōshoku, but I like the general philosophy of it more: Western foods viewed through Japanese eyes. I really, truly enjoyed Ochikeron’s “Chicken Tikka Masala” (made with thighs instead of breast meat, of course) and recently read about and made my first batch of Spaghetti Naporitan (uh, needs work). These foods are deeply, deeply far from authentic. But they are delicious and have value and merit. I feel the same about Buncha Jerks: I suspect that everything about how I made my jerk chicken was culturally as far from Jamaica as possible, but it was delicious, and I am not Jamaican. I think that valuing ingredient quality is the only true aspiration in cuisine, and even that is taken with a grain of salt. I mean, have you had Bugles lately?! My friend just brought some into work and holy shit! They are fried in coconut oil!

I guess what I am trying to say is that I love it when people try to fill a niche. Thanks, Buncha Jerks, both for your spices, and for having a name that makes me feel like I am speaking like a sarcastic asswipe.
¹ Especially my colon.

Last week I received an email from the publicist for 505 Southwestern apologizing for the hand incident, and a gentle encouragement to please, for all that is holy, at least taste the chipotle honey roasted green chile samples they sent me. And I feel no small obligation to do what they ask, mostly because, you know, they freighted me like $60 worth of their products.

Allow me to cut to the chase. This stuff is magical. I would happily buy jar after jar if I knew where to find it locally (I’m emailing the lady as you read this***). After all my eye-rolling and whinging and the waffling about how nice to be about being totally unimpressed by the salsa – these guys just poop out OH BY THE WAY HERE’S THE BEST CHILE PRODUCT EVER NO BIG DEAL.

Even the texture is gorgeous – rich and thick and syrupy, nothing at all like cans of limpid, pale green chiles floating in a sallow water. You can and I did eat a spoonful straight and found it to be up front both smoky and sweet, followed by the bright green of the chile and a slow, pleasant trail of heat. I jettisoned my plans to use it as an ingredient in a burrito (though that would be delicious) and instead concocted, on the spot, a delightfully bullshit recipe.

You see, I haven’t been feeling well lately. I feel best in the morning, and by mid-afternoon and evening my Crohn’s disease is acting up in a new and weird way (let’s try stabbing pains now rather than persistent cramping!) (also let’s bring rheumatoid garbage into play! why have just knee aches when we can have knuckle aches too!) and by the evening all I want are comfort foods. As a true story: I went to a low-income health clinic last week to explore my non-insured options for finding a GI doctor, and when I was telling the triage nurse that I had Crohn’s she looked me up and down and said “Oh! You seem so… robust.” In the spirit of being robust, I made mashed potatoes.

I made my usual mash and swirled in several large spoonfuls of chile. And topped with cheese of course because robust.

Here is a tremendous sigh. This was perfect. A little tiny bit sweet and spicy-hot, that distant whiff of chipotle, lots and lots of butter and cream and sharp cheddar cheese. You win, 505 Southwestern. Even cutting my hand open on one of your jars, you win.

Boil the potatoes in water until fork-tender, about 20 minutes. Drain them and return them to the heat for just a minute to evaporate off any remaining water. Mash or rice or foodmill the potatoes until nearly smooth. Add the butter, cream and salt and pepper to taste. (Always make them just a tiniest bit saltier than you think is right, because potatoes absorb the salt and taste less salty in short while.) (That is not actual science, just let it go.)

Stir in the green chile, then transfer to either one larger oven-safe dish, or several small oven-safe ramekins for individual serving. Top with cheese and place under the broiler for about 5 to 7 minutes, or until the cheese is melty and starts to brown in a few spots. As usual, when using a broiler NEVER WALK AWAY FROM IT. Watch it always.

Eat.

***UPDATE: 505 Southwestern products are only available in the US southwest (derp), but the marketing director said they would hit nationally at Walmart this summer. The best part was her email that said “I know you probably won’t love this…” She is correct. I do not love having to shop at Walmart. But que sera sera.

A rare treat for you scoundrels! I asked my dad, Jay, to review some of the salsa sent to us by 505 Southwestern because to be totally honest, I just don’t like canned or jarred salsas. If I want to eat salsa, I typically make a pico de gallo or a very chunky, tomatoey guacamole. But my dad eats a lot of salsa, and has opinions about it. I mixed my sample jar with sour cream to make a “pink sauce” dressing for taco salad and found it to be tasty, but I am reasonably certain that any Mexicans I know¹ would cry tears of disappointment if they saw me do that. Also the words “taco salad.” In the next week I will review what 505 Southwestern really wanted me to try in the first place, their roasted green chiles. Anyway, without further adieu, here is Jay.

Having grown up in parts of South-Central and East Los Angeles, I had the distinct pleasure of experiencing some wonderful Mexican-American food. I’ve eaten from the home tables of dear Hispanic friends, where the humble tortilla and various salsas were mainstays with every meal, including breakfast. In thirty years I learned to love a good salsa. Red, green, mild or hot … they are the perfect spicy accompaniment for nearly every savory dish.

So there you have it, my ‘salsa credentials,’ as-it-were.

I was visiting the home of my multi-talented and irreverent daughter (she was raised that way by her incredible parents). As I was about to leave she handed me a large jar of commercially produced red salsa saying, ‘Here dad, eat this and give me your gringo Angeleno opinion.’ (She emphasized the ‘white boy from L.A.’ designation with a passing chola accent. Impressive.)

I have one immutable law for my salsas: if the ingredients do not include cilantro (aka coriander), then it’s not salsa. This one does not have cilantro.

I guess I could just leave it there, let that be my impression and review, but I realize many folks are not as discriminatory as this old gringo.

So, I’ll try a little harder.

This salsa, like most, is formulated with bastardized Norte Americano tastes in mind. It’s thin (read: watery), mostly tomato-y (the first ingredient listed) and consists of all the ‘safe’ ingredients for very broad, generalized taste acceptance. Surprisingly, they have included jalapeños, so I’m compelled to give them that point.

I would never have found anything remotely like this in the homes of my Hispanic friends, nor in any self-respecting Mexican restaurant/eatery.

I respect the fact that they are attempting to market this to as many people as possible. That’s the nature of foods in the business world … so be it.

On the widely-used ‘star’ rating system, I can only give 505 Southwestern All Natural Salsa a 2.5 out of 5 stars. It just doesn’t do it for me.

That’s my opinion … now, ‘somebody get a rope!’

So there you have it from the Williams clan – two product reviews, one thumbs up (green chile sauce, when pureed, makes for tasty green enchiladas!) And two thumbs held sideways (the red enchilada sauce is a little intense for me, and I wish I could find another way of saying it that doesn’t make me sound like such a puss, but I can’t — it overpowered my chicken and corn enchiladas). And now this, the salsa. I didn’t think it was as watery as my dad did, but I did find it on the unremarkable end of the spectrum. But I want to clarify: I think this of all jarred salsas. They just taste like cooked tomatoes to me. A great choice to use in a 7-layer dip, but no fireworks as just chips-n-salsa.

And because I forgot in the last review, I do want to thank 505 Southwestern for allowing a website like Anger Burger to review their products. And they apologized to me in an email for my cutting my own hand on one of their jars, which was kind, because I am clearly a clumsy bastard and if I were them I’d regret sending me stuff.

So, #Tabletopday has come and gone. We had a grand old time at Gabi’s (aka Olympic Cards&Comics). It was a mad house. Can you spot MORT and VALENTINA in the photo above? Yeah, we’re blurry and tiny. Anyway, we spread the word about Bad Neighbors and even sold a few. People seemed to like it, even perfect strangers. And if you’re in the Oly/Lacey area, you can now buy BN over-the-counter at OCC.

Here’s some more Bad Neighbors Tabletop Day action from Dan and Julie:

I don’t know who that guy is, but he’s got my vote. And Matthew! Of the famous Bad Neighbors card “Matthew”!

Thank you all for spreading the neighborly feelings.

Mike the Viking

p.s. If you have any action shots you’d like to share with us, send ’em my way. We love to see ’em and we’ll add them to the wall of ignominy.

Mike the Viking somehow figured out how to use a mobile phone and sent me a text the other day that read: “You have a giant package waiting for you at home.” To which I responded “JUST LIKE EVERY NIGHT.”

But because he has no capacity for humor, he wasn’t kidding. The box was massive, and hid a Demon Core of a smaller, heavier box inside. It was so dense and heavy, in fact, that it was punching out the bottom of its own box.

So you know, I was pretty baffled. Who knew to send this to me and why? And then I had this memory of a million years ago in January when someone asked me for my address. I genuinely remember very little from January.

In case it isn’t clear: those are a dozen sixteen ounce jars. That is well over a gallon of salsa and green chile products. Mike the Viking and I were dumb with confusion. Also, why do no Japanese companies ever read my blog?

Well, fuck it. When life gives you salsa, make enchiladas. Also he had been smashing crockery for literally months now because I have been making myself a lot of enchilada soup (more on that later, but summarize it to: sounds gross, tastes rad) and as far as he is concerned I am wasting both enchilada ingredients and enchilada-making energy on something that is not enchiladas so get back in the shark fat curing hut you whore!

Lifehacker also talked about shredding chicken in a stand mixer like a year ago, and I kept forgetting until now. That sentence I just wrote is all you need to know about it, but it is worth reading through the comments and the WWIII level indignancy for WHY YOU NOT SHRED WITH YOUR HANDS, COMMIE? Frankly, I hate shredding chicken. I can’t explain it, but I find it tedious and slippery and unsatisfying.

I used thighs and my results were not as advertised, but still not bad for 20 seconds of work. If you’re shredding a pound or more of chicken, I say do it.

Anyway, I am not going to give you an enchilada recipe. I’m a white lady from Washington State. I put meat and some veggies and some cheese into a corn tortilla that has been softened in a little hot oil on the stove top, and then I dump a canpacket of enchilada sauce onto it. Also under it. I mean, still inside the pan. You know what I mean. Today’s masterpiece was shredded chicken thighs (KEEP UP, I KNOW WE’RE ALL A LITTLE RUSTY HERE), corn and some canned roasted peppers. Hilariously, not the roasted green peppers sent to me by the vat-full from 505 Southwestern, but some regular red bell peppers.

The sauces sure look nice. I mean, green chile sauce never looks good, it always looks like it’s time for antibiotics.

Which is when I noticed something that shouldn’t matter but does:

I really can’t stand it when companies put religious shit on their products. And I don’t begrudge them the option to print it on there or anything, just that I am clearly not their customer base. Did they even read Anger Burger? I unfriend people on Facebook for posting well-meaning but nevertheless overly simple, naive and glurge-y garbage about everything happening for a reason. I could keep talking about this all day, but it isn’t the point of the story. The point is that while I was bitching about this to Mike, I failed to notice the following:

See that? I didn’t.

It’s a short little cut, but it’s weirdly deep, and not the place I’d advise having an open wound while trying to assemble and roll up two dozen tubes of flaming hot chili sauce.

The green chile sauce is not advertised as enchilada sauce, and is in fact suggested as a sauce for slow-roasting meat (green chile carnitas, for example) and a base for stews (chicken, or “white” chili), but I was still unhappy with how thin the sauce was versus the large chunks of chile and tomato. Immersion blender to the rescue! Two seconds later I had green enchilada sauce.

I tasted both sauces out of the jar and wasn’t blown away. 505’s red enchilada sauce contains no tomatos, and in fact is made pretty much entirely from dried red chiles. The flavor straight from the jar was a little harsh and acrid, and the sauce itself is thicker than what I normally use. I thinned it out with some water before I poured it into the pan.

Verdict? The green chile sauce is the clear winner. Excellent flavor, and after blending smooth it needed zero additional ingredients. Nice heat, too, not too mild and not too spicy. Goldilocks. The red sauce was less successful, though still better than anything out of a can. The sharpness of the chiles was not lessened in cooking, and the flavor overall was somewhat overwhelming. I can’t believe I am saying this, but it was just too potent. If I had it to make again (AND I DO, THANKS GIANT BOX OF SAUCE) I’d mix the red sauce with a jar of green sauce — even if I just wanted red sauce — to knock the whole face-slam of chile flavor down a little. As it was, we could barely taste the fillings, and certainly couldn’t taste what kind of cheese I’d used.

I will get to the rest of the case of sauces later, because guess what? It’s a mixed case. And two of the jars are unlabeled and there is nothing on 505’s website that gives and hint as to what it might be. Uh. Hooray?

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